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    The Perfect Gift
    The Perfect Gift
    The Perfect Gift
    Ebook213 pages3 hours

    The Perfect Gift

    By Mark Stewart

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    About this ebook

    Naomi is a young woman who has had one bad relationship after another. She decides to find a temporary job and is accepted as a Jillaroo on a cattle station in outback Australia. She falls in love with Trent. He’s a cowboy and hides the fact he is a rodeo champion. Trent has to save Naomi from drowning and her obsessive ex-boyfriend. To win Naomi’s heart Trent must unravel what the perfect gift is. After hearing the cattle station is almost bankrupt, Naomi wants to help save the station. Will Trent finally win Naomi’s heart? Or will she turn her back on Trent and go back to the city?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMark Stewart
    Release dateJul 19, 2010
    ISBN9781458131577
    The Perfect Gift
    Author

    Mark Stewart

    Mark Stewart is an acclaimed author. He loves to write fiction right across the board from romance adventure to crime and onwards to science fiction. His fast paced novels will keep you on the edge of your seat from the first word to the last.Mark lives in Melbourne Australia and tries to keep to the Aussie lingo and customs. His only gripe is he never has enough time to feed the writing enthusiasm inside him.Mark lives in the picturesque region of the Mornington Peninsula, a full one hour drive from Melbourne.He has been married to his wonderful patient wife for over thirty years. He has four adult children and two grand children. Everywhere he looks there is a story waiting to be told.Contact Mark to leave a comment about one of his books or just to say gidday, (hi) he would love to hear from you.email: mark_stewart777@hotmail.comAll reviews are gratefully accepted.To all the readers who follow Mark's work. Thank you.

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      Book preview

      The Perfect Gift - Mark Stewart

      THE PERFECT GIFT

      Mark Stewart

      Copyright 2010: The Perfect Gift: Mark Stewart. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author. This story is fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination. Resemblance to any actual person living or dead is purely coincidental.

      ISBN: 97980980777314

      Cover design. LaVonna Moore. SelfPubBookCovers.com

      VonnaArt

      Revised edition: Rosemary Cantala.

      Smashwords edition license notes.

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Other novels Mark Stewart has written

      Fire games

      Heart of a spider

      I know your secret

      Romance

      Kiss on the bridge

      Kiss on the bridge Two

      Kiss on the bridge Three

      Don’t tell my secret

      201 May street

      The Girl from Emerald hill

      Ladies’ Club

      Mistress

      Book of secrets

      The perfect gift

      The Blood Red Rose (Vampire romance adventure)

      Blood Red Rose Two

      Blood Red Rose Three

      Legendary Blue Diamond

      Legendary Blue Diamond two

      Legendary Blue Diamond three

      Planet X91 the beginning (series)

      Planet X91the new home

      Planet X91the underwater cave

      Planet X91the storm

      Planet X91the drought

      Planet X91the fire

      Planet X91the plaque

      Planet X91the doorway to time

      Planet X91 the new earth

      (plus, many more)

      THE PERFECT GIFT

      CHAPTER ONE

      A YOUNG man boasting a straight back, used deliberate steps to march up to the open casket. For a long moment, he stared at the dead woman lying in the coffin. Eventually, he lifted his gaze and looked at the small group who arrived to pay their last respects. The young man’s expression portrayed someone who seemed detached, totally uninterested. His actions dictated the fact he wanted to be somewhere else.

      The young man slowly returned his attention back to the viewing. He leaned over, staring closely at the old woman. Her face showed no sign of any anguish she may have encountered throughout her lifetime; her stories gone forever.

      A middle-aged woman, fresh tears cascading down over her cheeks, followed slowly in the man’s footsteps. She stood next to him speaking in low whispers.

      Why are you here?

      I wanted to see for myself. His voice sounded full of scorn, bordering on hatred.

      I repeat my question.

      Don’t talk to me. In a few minutes, I’ll be gone, never to return. He squared himself to the young lady and looked directly at her eyes. You’ll never have to see or hear from me again.

      That suits me fine.

      An old man, leaning heavily on a walking stick, shuffled forward. Standing between the two, he whispered. Not here, not now.

      Who are you to tell me what to do? grumbled the young man. He glared cruel eyes at the old man.

      Jake, can’t you speak nicely?

      Shut up Bernice. I’ll speak anyway I want.

      You shouldn’t have come; there’s nothing for you here.

      I’ll be the judge.

      I hope you aren’t here for money? questioned Bernice.

      There is no need for you to know the reason why I came.

      Bernice bowed her head, sobbing quietly. She hugged the book she held tighter. I refuse to fight with my only brother.

      At last, you’re starting to see things my way. I choose what I want and when to do it.

      Bernice stared at her brother. Your black suit matches the color of your nature. Here, before you go, read this. You owe it to mother, she insisted, shoving the book at him.

      I owe her nothing. I warned her not to stay at the Oasis. She didn’t listen.

      Jake snatched the dull red leather-bound book from his sister. He threw it on to the floor next to the coffin. He walked past the onlookers to the outside.

      Bernice picked up the book. She studied the expensive cover for damage. Sighing in relief, she held it tight. Stepping into the sunlight, Bernice glared at her brother, lighting a cigarette.

      I see you’re into a healthy lifestyle.

      What’s it to you? Why do you even care?

      I know you should’ve given mother and father a chance before turning your back on them and the Oasis.

      Poppycock! I decided I didn’t want to live in a prison.

      I have never viewed the Oasis as a prison.

      It’s high time you did.

      How can I? I have always loved the place. Bernice, again shoved the book at him.

      What’s the book? snarled Jake.

      Every one of mother’s thoughts is recorded in the book.

      In her memoirs, corrected Jake. Pulling off his tie, he shrugged a shoulder.

      Why don’t you read the book for five minutes, urged Bernice. The sparkle in her eyes forced Jake to hesitate.

      The old man who stood at the coffin emerged from the graveyard quiet funeral chapel. He stood on the top step, grinning. His furrowed brow depicted he’d seen too much sun over his lifetime.

      Stop smirking, yelled Jake, lifting his fist into the air. Old man, if you want to fight, I’m ready.

      Come, sit in the privacy of the quiet room overlooking the grounds, hinted Bernice, stepping in his way.

      The only destination I’m interested in is the local hotel for a drink.

      Bernice cleared her throat. Please, we have much to discuss. A soft, pleasant expression swept her face. Her tone of voice could melt the heart of any man.

      Jake slipped out of his pinstriped suit jacket and dropped it over his arm. I’ll give you five minutes; not a second longer.

      Bernice pointed to a narrow path, leading through the manicured garden to another building not far from the chapel. She climbed the steps and waited for Jake to catch up. After entering the building, they walked into the small room. Bernice closed the door.

      Leather bound law books each one in mint condition filled the bookcase adjacent to the door. A Tasmanian oak table and three chairs were set up in front of the window. The grey carpet looked new.

      Sit down. I want you to read the first page, jeered Bernice, shoving the leather-bound book under his nose.

      What if I don’t want to sit?

      I insist. Her soft, gentle voice, her feminine facial expression, she left on the other side of the door. The tone in her voice now sounded cold, almost hostile.

      Jake pulled a second cigarette from his pocket, placing it in his mouth.

      Bernice reached out, yanking it from between his lips. She threw it in the small bin next to the table. You can’t smoke in here, she scolded.

      Don’t tell me what to do. I need something to settle my nerves. I don’t like it here. I want this day to be over so I can get back to the city. It’s where I belong. If you analyzed what I just told you for five minutes, you’d know I’m correct.

      Is that the reason why you smoke?

      What I do is none of your business.

      Fair comment, said Bernice.

      I’m thrilled to the back teeth; we finally agree on a second idea.

      Brother, even though we don’t get along, I’m happy you decided to be here. Your presence means a lot to me.

      Jake answered in a flat voice. I’m thrilled to be here.

      Why do you have to be so cynical?

      I’ve told you this before. It’s my business, not yours.

      Bernice’s shoulders slumped. To hide her tears, she looked away.

      What did you expect? queried Jake.

      Couldn’t you have visited me and our parents at the Oasis at least once in the last twenty years?

      Tell me, who in their right mind would want to visit the Oasis? The place isn’t exciting. In fact, it’s an isolated, boring hole in the ground.

      Bernice again stared at her brother. It’s a lovely place. If you’d only given it the chance it deserves you might have found it therapeutic. If you stayed for a week, you would never want to leave.

      Spare me the grief. It’s a boring, horrible place. I grew up there just like you.

      We had great times waiting for the leaves to fall off the trees so we could kick them high in the air. Not to mention saying what we thought a cloud resembled or what it might change into as it floated past us.

      If you say, said Jake, interrupting. I used to dream every night about leaving the dry, dusty forsaken land. When I left, I never looked back. Glaring at his sister, he dropped the book Bernice gave him on to the desktop. If you followed me, you’d feel the same way I do now. The city’s nightlife made me rich. The city itself is exciting beyond belief.

      Bernice carefully picked up the book. Forcibly she pushed it against Jake’s chest. Read it. You owe the dead woman. In case you’ve forgotten, her name was Naomi; our mother.

      Again, I tell you I owe her nothing. Jake lobbed the book through the air. It missed the bin, landing heavily on the floor.

      Missing the bin must have been an omen, hinted Bernice.

      Jake retrieved the book from the carpet. His second attempt successfully ended with the book in the bin.

      Bernice folded her arms. She looked down her nose at her brother through cold, unfriendly eyes. If what I am about to say are the last words, I tell you, then so be it. The city, the money, will never replace the splendor of the Oasis which is located in the middle of the Australian outback. Nothing compares to the morning glory that fringes the white clouds every new day, the birds, the cattle, or the peace the place brings.

      Forget the wise old words. Tell me one thing before I leave. The old man hobbling up to the coffin, who was he? Did you know him? He resembled the local street bum.

      He’s no street bum. He came to say a few last words and to relive old memories. Bernice walked over, picking the book out of the bin. She cut into the path of her brother, marching for the door. Sit down and read. Again, she shoved it at his ribs forcing him to hold the book.

      Tell me one good reason why I should read it?

      I have already told you the book contained mum’s entire memories.

      I do not care, Jake sized up the bin. He made preparations to lob the book high over his siter’s head.

      You should care.

      Out there in the middle of Australia, she was never a mother to me. I’m happy I left home at an early age. The city helped me grow up.

      The door to the room opened. A man wearing a two-piece grey suit and a white tie hanging from his neck walked in.

      Excuse me, Sir, is your name Jake Stanton?

      Who wants to know?

      I’m the solicitor in charge of the family fortune.

      Go away; you’re not needed.

      Sir, the book you are holding has been left to you in the dead woman’s will.

      Jake massaged his temples. What is it about this stupid book?

      The solicitor lowered his voice, the tone changing from friendly to authoritative.

      Before the reading of the will commences, you and your sister must read the diary. Failure to heed this simple command will see you both automatically cut from the inheritance.

      Jake’s deceitful city nature slipped into overdrive. By kicking the chair across the room, he wanted the man to know he wasn’t happy. He pointed directly at his sister’s green eyes.

      I’ll read the first and the last page.

      Opening the leather-bound book, Jake commenced reading.

      CHAPTER TWO

      CLOSE TO the sand in the tranquil Port Phillip Bay, forty minutes from Melbourne, the small church looked picture-perfect. The ten bouquets of freshly picked red roses tied neatly at the end of each pew were exquisite. The flower girl and bride’s maids looked superb.

      The bride looked out of the long narrow window at the side of the church altar. She watched a brown leaf fall from the large oak tree. She marveled at the way the sea breeze helped it float gently to the ground. The bride-to-be faced her future husband. The expression on her face radiated love and devotion. Her long white silk dress and veil hid her nervousness.

      The minister’s eyes sparkled. He used a distinct deep tone of voice to close his debut wedding. Naomi and Bill Prescott, I now pronounce you man and-.

      Hold it. Freeze the wedding service, yelled a young woman standing in the exact center of the main doors leading into the church.

      Her words cut deep into Naomi’s spirit. She glared at the person who interrupted her day. The one hundred strong onlookers, the same ones who made a ruckus over her four-thousand-dollar wedding dress were gob-smacked.

      For far too long the old church remained barren of sound. Naomi’s heart skipped a beat.

      High-pitched verbal diarrhea erupted from the guests. Every eye in the weatherboard building stared at the barefoot woman in a torn sky-blue dress. She stood square to Naomi just inside the main door holding a baby while sweeping a young girl closer to her left hip.

      Three kids fanned out from behind her.

      Naomi looked at the sullen group. Switching her attention back to her future husband she whispered. Bill, do you know this woman? Her voice sounded alarmingly calm.

      I have never seen her in my life, he whispered.

      Naomi watched the woman marching along the pale red carpet. She abruptly stopped at the foot of the altar. The woman glared at each of the bridal party then studied Naomi’s wedding dress. Looking directly at Bill, she spat at the slate tiles he stood on.

      Excuse me, said Bill.

      Bigamy is against the law, darling, snarled the woman.

      Excuse me, scoffed Naomi, echoing Bill’s remark. Who are you? What do you want?

      The tall, thin, woman swept long blonde hair from her face. I’m here to stop this farce of a wedding.

      Naomi’s best friend and bridesmaid, Kaite, stepped forward, shoving a tight fist at the woman’s nose.

      You might want to reconsider your idea, she yelled through a locked jaw. Leave before this scene turns ugly. You certainly have not been invited.

      The woman pointed her finger at Bill. I can prove I’m this man’s wife.

      Naomi folded her arms. Let’s see the proof.

      Bill started fidgeting, by strumming his fingers together. He focused on the many guests hoping they weren’t about to lynch him. Yes, let’s see this so-called proof.

      The woman snatched a photo of Bill and her on their wedding day from the hand of a young sobbing four-year-old girl. The woman shoved the photo and a copy of the marriage license at the priest.

      His shocked expression said it all.

      # # # # # #

      Naomi was lying prone on the bed staring

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